


Matched set, RPF, Chris/Karl, R

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter





	Matched set, RPF, Chris/Karl, R

Comment-fic for the Daily Captain and Doctor picture feature at jim_and_bones, that day's feature involving the boys both wearing light-colored denim shirts.

\--

"You do realize you have no basis to make fun of Chris' clothes, don't you?" Zach says, sipping his coffee and trying to look wise over his dorky, dark glasses.

"'Course I do. The kid's taste is godawful." Karl swirls the celery around in his drink. Where the hell is Chris anyway? He's late yet again, leaving him open to Zach's poking and prodding.

"It's the same taste as yours," Zach says, smirking, and just then, Chris enters the patio, light denim shirt untucked over tight, dark denim pants. He's got his Wayfarers on, and hasn't shaved yet. He looks rumpled enough for Karl to want to lick clean. It's a thought he shoves to the back of his mind before his dick can get too interested and make itself too obviously known. There aren't any tablecloths at the wrought-iron tables.

"It is not," he protests belatedly, then looks down at himself. Light denim shirt, dark denim pants. He hadn't shaved either, and yes-- he's got his own Wayfarers perched on his face.

"I've got boots on," he says. Chris, god love him, is wearing those horrible clogs. And Karl's pants aren't strangling his nuts, as Chris' have to be, though good lord, the bulge that he's sporting. If that's what he's packing when he's not even turned on?

"Mere quibbles," Zach says with such a grandiose wave he nearly knocks his mimosa onto the table-- but doesn't, because he saves it and takes a sip that says somehow _I meant to do that._ "You know what they say. Couples who start dressing alike..."

His eyebrows are practically dancing off of his face as he smirks.

"You two have shown up wearing practically the same thing the last dozen times we've been out, it's like you sent each other an email and I know that you didn't. You should just give in and acknowledge your burning passion already. You're clearly meant to be married, you've already gotten the old fogey matching track suits part of it down."

"Who's got matching trackies?" Chris asks, sliding into his seat as he pulls his bluetooth out and sets it onto the table, thank god. The thing might be useful, but it makes him look like a tool.

"Zoe and Zach. They say disco bitch queens," Karl snarks, "black with pink and blue sequins."

Chris snickers, then smiles at the waiter as he orders a coffee and a bloody mary, Absolut Peppar, heavy on the horseradish, please.

Zach just raises his eyebrows, as Karl eyes his own drink. Maybe Zach has a point. They've never all been out to brunch before, and Chris orders the same drink as Karl does?

"Nice shirt," he offers.

Chris tips up his glasses and looks over at Karl-- then offers a grin. "You too. Guess Zach and Zoe aren't the only matched set."

Karl ponders his answer, then gives Chris a slow smile. "We're hotter than they are."

There's a pause-- just a second-- and he can't tell because Chris has already lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, but all these months of tension between them-- he can hear it sizzle or something as Zach sits there and just sips his mimosa.

Then Chris gives him a slow, private smile. "No kidding. No way stubble looks good on Zoe, any day, ever."

There's brunch to be got through-- more innocuous conversation to be made now that the compliments are out of the way-- and Zach's smugness to be cut through like butter.

"So. Zach," Karl ventures. "Is that a hickey on your neck, or are you just developing Ebola?"

Chris laughs and leans in, snark at full volume, as he joins Karl in making Zach blush as they worm out the story of just who left their friend with a love bite, and Zach finally throws up his hands, calling "Fine, match, set and game, you two hooligans win!"

Chris, looking over the table, smiles at Karl-- and Karl can't help smiling back, raising an identical drink to a man wearing an identical shirt and identical sunglasses. Matched set, indeed. He's certainly game-- and it seems like Chris might be, too.

He can't wait for brunch to be over.


End file.
